RAB write-up, day 8: Strathdon to Kyle of Sutherland

Planned route: 109.3mi, 6,735ft
Actual route: 109.61mi, 7,093ft

On paper, day 8 was a bit easier than 7: three miles and 600ft easier. But that's just on paper. In reality, I'd say it was harder.

It was another early start, which meant I was awake as usual at 4.45. But the rain was coming down in stair-rods, my knees hurt, my hip hurt and my saddle sores had been weeping all night. All that, and I was worried about the Lecht too. I'll be honest, I did not want to leave the confines of Blue 98, let alone get on a bike. I sent my partner a forlorn text message at 5am, which said:

Weather here is atrocious. Am actually scared of descending the Lecht if this keeps up as my brakes won't stop me that steep in the wet.

So there you go: most people were worried about getting up the Lecht. I was worried about coming down...

On the plus side, the Lecht came right at the start of day 8, so at least it was over and done with. The first section is the steepest, a genuine 1-in-5, and I felt no shame in getting off and walking up that bit. I'd say nearly half the field did, from what I saw. Getting back on was hard though, as the hill went on a long way from there, though not so steeply. All the while, it was raining which, as I've mentioned before, is not great for the spectacle-wearing cyclist; it's one thing walking up a steep hill when you just can't see, but when you then need to come down the other side... suffice to say, I had been right to be worried. I could basically see blocks of colour, grey and green, to differentiate the road from the hillside. Could I have seen a pothole if there'd been one in front of me? I very much doubt it. Could I have stopped in a hurry if I'd needed to? Well, at one point I had both brakes full on and was still descending at 30mph, so no, I very much doubt that too. Did the lashing wind and rain make things even harder? Oh yes. And was I mightily relieved to reach the lower slopes of the descent, and feel that I had a modicum of control again, and that I hadn't just died? You betcha.

Heavy rain spoiled a lot of what came next, sadly. The route passed through "whiskey country", and I certainly clocked the Glenfiddich distillery. But from there it was supposed to be wide-open vistas all the way to the first pit stop in Grantown, and it was... it's just that they were grey, sodden vistas, which was a shame. Increasing windy too, the dreaded headwind. And the rain was so heavy that my footwear finally conceded and, overshoes or not, I got very wet feet.

After the first pit, it stopped raining! And the headwind meant that I soon dried out, from the ankles up at least. And from Grantown, the route moved onto narrower, quieter lanes, and the picturesque river crossing at Dulsie Bridge... which is where the near miss to end all near misses happened. I had stopped to take a picture or two - as I said, it was very picturesque. Many other riders had done the same. Whilst I had cleared the bridge and pulled off the road, others had stopped on the bridge itself ... and were on both sides of the road, chasing photographs. Probably not their best decision. Now the approach to the bridge is a narrow blind bend, and the exit from the bridge is an even tighter bend straight into a short but steep climb. So when a group of riders, led by a chaperone who perhaps should have known better, came barrelling into the first corner at speed and on to the bridge, well, it's amazing they didn't hit anyone. And it's not surprising that they didn't all make the turn out of the bridge either: one rider chose to go straight on and brake hard. He ended up in the hedge. Another rider got around the bend but then came off, fortunately having scrubbed all her speed off first. Neither rider was seriously hurt, and both continued quickly on, with every one of their group swearing loudly about the stupidity of people stopping on a narrow bridge. But both groups were at fault, for the group that came onto the bridge were going way, way too fast into a narrow, blind bend, prefaced by multiple brown tourist signs warning of a viewpoint ahead. Easier to blame others than admit even partial culpability oneself, I guess. Still, no-one was hurt, that's the main thing, right?

The route then passed the Culloden battlefield and an unexpected visual highpoint: the Culloden Viaduct, pictured here with another engineering marvel, my clapped-out old bike. As you can see, it might have stopped raining but it was still pretty grey.

The day's second pit stop followed shortly after, in Inverness, one of my favourite towns in Scotland. But I didn't enjoy the pit. I got cold quickly, and found it really hard to get going again. I took some small comfort in the knowledge that John O'Groats was only 150 miles ahead, but even so I found myself stopping within a mile of the restart, just to try to get comfortable on the bike. Despite that, because I know and like Inverness, I was looking forward to cycling over the Kessock Bridge, to cross the Moray Firth. It's a route I've driven many times, but cycling over would be a first. And what a slog it was! The headwind had really picked up, and it almost felt like I was going backwards on the bridge. But I made it. And from there the route took a very quiet (but not particularly well surfaced) route through to Culbokie, where it joined the A9 to cross the Cromarty Firth. Again, this was a crossing I had made many times by car, but never by bike. As I cycled across, a car overtook me, then slowed as the front seat passenger wound down his window. I was expecting a shout of support, as had been common throughout RAB from passing motorists. Instead, the passenger pointed angrily to the footpath (which was not, I hasten to add, a designated cycle path) and shouted, "You should be over there, you c**t!" Welcome to the Highlands, eh?

The next stretch, on the A9, felt brilliant though, turned away from the headwind, on a smooth, flat(tish) road, it felt like I could really get the power down for the first time that day. Rightly or wrongly, it felt like a few easy miles, and I certainly needed them, because as soon as the route left the A9, it started to climb again, towards The Struie, which yielded breathtaking views of the Kyle of Sutherland. On a sunnier day, many photographs would have been taken. As it was, time was ticking on: the slow ascent of the Lecht, my second pit stop restart problems and the headwind had all taken their toll, and I was once more worried about the broom wagon. Thankfully, a brilliant descent to Bonar Bridge helped move me along. I had to slow to take a photograph for my son though, as I approached the eponymous bridge, because he's at an age when bonar/boner is funny. Ho ho.

I rolled into the final RAB basecamp at ten to six, 11 hours and 20 minutes after I'd set off, with ten hours moving time recorded. The Lecht meant I posted by far my slowest average speed of the whole event, but I didn't care. I had completed the back-to-back tough days of 7 and 8, and knew that I could finish RAB now... couldn't I?

Maybe. Maybe not. To add to blistered saddle sores, swollen knees and hip pain, I could now add RSI in both thumbs, and numbness in both feet. The RSI came from shifting gear so often, and was a direct side-effect of having a flat-bar bike with thumb shifters. If I'd had a race bike, with drop handlebars, this would not have been a problem. But towards the end of day 8, changing gear was starting to become difficult, and the weakness in my thumbs had become so pronounced that I struggled to tear open a bag of sweets. As for the numb toes, I guess that just came from pressing down on a carbon-soled shoe into cleats so hard, so often, for so many days in a row (and I can add that this still hasn't completely gone away, more than three weeks after RAB). Anyway... my daily trip to the medic was no longer than usual, but I did take one of the giant Ibuprofen that evening. I also snagged extra Rock Tape, so that I could reinforce my thumbs for the last day.